Free Aliena Too by Piers Anthony

There his memory ended.
    â€œQuincy.” It was an oddly musical voice saying his name. That must have been what woke him.
    â€œHere,” he replied, and that was weird, because he did not do it by exhaling breath and invoking vocal cords. He did it—with his arms. By squirting tiny jets of water. Could that be right? Or was this a weird dream?
    â€œAre you rational?”
    What a question! “I’m not sure. Am I?”
    â€œYou seem to be. Your human brain was transplanted to an alien, to you, host. You have been recovering, unconscious, for a week. Your synapses should now be connecting, enabling you to operate the body. But it will seem strange, and it will take time for you to get used to it, let alone master it. Do not be dismayed if things do not work well at first.”
    â€œThank you for that explanation. Who are you?”
    â€œI am Aliena.”
    â€œAliena! The starfish transplant?”
    â€œThe same. Now I am back in my natural body. But I was, for a time, in a human body, and I remember the ways of it. That is why I am best qualified to help you adjust now.”
    He assimilated that. “I’m a starfish. You’re a starfish. So you’ll help me get used to it.”
    â€œYes. And to function as a starfish. But I need to warn you of something.”
    â€œWarn me?”
    â€œYour new body will seem awkward at first, but that will change as you acclimatize. What won’t change is your relative intelligence.”
    â€œSo I won’t lose my mind. That’s a relief.”
    â€œPerhaps not. Among humans there is a range of intelligence, as measured by your somewhat arbitrary tests. On a scale of one through ten, roughly, a ten would be a near genius, while a one would be a moron.”
    â€œGot it. Five would be average. I’m about a six.”
    â€œOn the human scale,” she agreed. “On the starfish scale, you will be a one.”
    More assimilation. “A moron.”
    â€œYes. Your participation in our society will be limited.”
    This was hard to take. But what choice did he have at this point? “I guess there are jobs for morons, right? Like cleaning out the bilge.”
    â€œFortunately, you do not have to make it on intellect. You have something we largely lack that makes you equivalent to a genius compared to us. That is emotion.”
    â€œStarfish lack emotion?”
    â€œWe do not entirely lack it, but we are supremely rational. We work to ascertain the best course of action, and implement it. Emotion can interfere with that, so we suppress it from childhood on. But when interacting with human beings, we need emotion. You will need to help show us how to stop being emotional morons and start being more like humans. It is not an easy course for us. We here on the space craft were not selected for it, assuming that other sapient species would resemble us in this respect. Now we must overcome that liability.”
    â€œSo there is something I can help you with,” he said slowly. “To pay my way.”
    â€œThat is correct. I ask you to remember that when you feel stupid, as you often will. Humans do not expect or even value intelligence in their pets; dogs and cats and parrots have other virtues.”
    â€œWoof!”
    â€œI do not understand.”
    â€œThat was humor. Wait—humor is emotional. That’s why you don’t get it.”
    â€œCorrect. In what manner does making the sound of a dog represent humor?”
    â€œI’m pretending I am a pet dog. Obviously I’m not, so it is laughable.”
    â€œI see,” she said uncertainly.
    â€œLet’s move on. What else do I need to know?”
    â€œYou will have to attend Starfish School to learn the nature and history of our species. You will have to learn our language.”
    â€œI will? What am I speaking, then?”
    â€œYou are speaking an Earth dialect. I learned it when I was in the human host, so I